


Black and Blue

by 221Browncoat



Category: Firefly
Genre: Bar Fight, Gen, Whump, beat up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 23:49:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15084428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221Browncoat/pseuds/221Browncoat
Summary: Simon gets into a bar fight. It doesn't go well. Mal helps.Rating for violence and language.





	Black and Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Written to fill the 'coughing up blood' square on my Bad Things Happen bingo card!

If a fight breaks out, Simon is to either get out of the building or find someplace to stand where it's unlikely he'll catch a fist or an elbow or a pool cue. That's always been the rule, unspoken because Simon really isn't one who needs to be told to avoid senseless violence and because frankly, he can't fight worth shit.

So it's a surprise to everyone when he boards the Serenity with a facefull of blood and bruises, one arm draped around Jayne's shoulder, the other curled around his ribs. He looks miserable, humiliated, and fed-up, all rolled into a single expression that would be less amusing if not for the fact that it's paired with Jayne's broad smile.

Kaylee wears a look of shock, eyes huge and eyebrows high. Book looks worried for a moment before saying something no one hears and hurrying off, presumably to the infirmary or to find River or both. Zoe looks unimpressed.

Wash snorts and says in a loud whisper, "I can't wait to hear this one."

And Mal, well he just glares at Jayne. "What in the tien shiao duh did you do to my medic?"

"Well, that's the thing, see," Jayne says, and his grin grows wider, bordering on gleeful. "He started it!"

xxx a few hours earlier

The thing about surviving an encounter with someone like Jubal Early is that the things that used to seem intimidating or dangerous suddenly don't. Simon has a scar on his leg to remind him every day that he'd danced with the devil, and he'd come out of it (mostly) intact. And what are drunk, pissed off idiots compared to the devil?

It's with this mindset that Simon decides to explore Aberdeen, despite its being, as Jayne so eloquently put it, "colder'n a witch's tit." His leg hadn't allowed him to actually leave during shoreleave the last several times they landed, so it's been weeks since he left the ship. He's going stir-crazy, and he's not sure he can make it til the next port. So, he'll brave the cold.

He digs through his chest until he finds the tailored coat he has folded up in the bottom-a gray, knee-length, double-breasted thing that's no doubt going to make him stick out like a sore thumb. He pulls it on and is surprised at how familiar and almost comfortable the weight of it is, despite his not having worn it in years. The feeling goes sour though, as all thoughts of what used be home do, and he quickly pushes them down, as he always does.

He does some quick stretches for his leg before peeking into his sister's bunk. "Hey, River?" He peeks around the door and sighs. Of course she isn't there. Which means she's probably in the mess, or Kaylee's room, or maybe the Shepherd's (assuming she's not just wandering around). He heads for the mess first, calling out for her as he goes and checking each room he passes. There's no sign of her, until he hears the faint sound of her laugh mixing with the rest of the crew. It makes him smile, and he steps a little faster.

"River! I-" He rounds the corner into the mess, and the room falls silent. A quick look around reveals a lot of raised eyebrows and smothered smiles as they take in the sight of him in his coat.

Mal finally says, "What are you all dressed up for?" and his voice is tight with contained laughter, which quickly isn't contained anymore, and Jayne joins in.

"Alright, alright," Simon says, not even attempting to hide his annoyance at once again becoming the laughingstock of the ship.

"I think it looks nice," Kaylee says. "It's just so...so rich-looking is all. More than usual even."

Mal wipes at his eye and sighs. "Really, though, what are you doing? 'Cus she's right, that's a mighty fancy coat to be wearing someplace like Aberdeen."

"It's the warmest thing I have," Simon says, trying not to sound defensive. "And I'm going for a walk because I need to get off this ship. It's been weeks and I could use the exercise."

Mal nods toward Simon's left thigh. "Leg's feelin' better then?"

"Much."

The captain claps him on the shoulder. "Good! Why don't you wait a minute, Jayne'll go out with you."

Simon opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again with a frown. "I don't need a babysitter."

"And I ain't babysittin'," Jayne grunts. "Just got a call from a lady friend of mine recognized the ship, wanted a..." A wicked look crosses his features and he wiggles his eyebrows. "...conjugal visit, if you catch my meaning."

Kaylee makes a face that perfectly mirrors how Simon is feeling and he makes a small sound of disgust. "Very clearly, yes. Look, I just wanted to tell River that I would be gone for a few hours." He looks over at her and raises his eyebrows. "And that she is to try and keep out of trouble while I'm gone."

"Message received," River says, and smiles. "Loud and clear."

"We'll keep a good eye on her," Kaylee adds.

Simon takes a deep breath and manages a smile of his own. "Of course you will, thank you."

"Just make sure you're back 'fore sundown," Mal says. "I'm sure Wash'll have the nav system sorted by then, and then we're off this rock." He doesn't add 'with or without you,' but it's implied.

"Understood, Cap'n."

He makes it through the ship without bumping into anyone else, which he's grateful for. He just wants to get away from everyone for awhile. He almost changes his mind when he gets outside; the cold is so sharp it steals his breath away and stings his face.

He hurries to the first store he can find, rushing in and letting out a sigh at the warmth. The door closes behind him, a little bell ringing as it does. He takes a few more steps in and looks around, trying to figure out what kind of shop he's in. There are knick-knacks by the windows and hatchets hanging on the back wall, and some creepily life-like stuffed animals that he's beginning to think are actual stuffed animals.

There aren't many others in the store, and he catches a few of them staring, though they shift their attention if he looks at them, pretending like they weren't just watching him. Even so, he can feel their eyes on him, and he knows what kind of staring it is. Not the curious kind, but the judging kind. The resentful kind. It's enough to drive him back out into the cold.

He has similar experiences in the next few places he enters, so he never stays more than a few minutes. He's in a tea shop when he finally grows sick of it, and he approaches the tiny woman behind the counter.

"Excuse me. Can you tell me where I can find someplace to sit, like a bar or a cafe or…" He gestures vaguely, then shrugs.

She looks him up and down with narrowed eyes, then holds a hand out.

"Um…"

"You've got spare change, right?"

Simon takes a deep breath and forces himself not to roll his eyes as he digs in his coat pocket. "Here," he says, dropping a few coins onto her palm. She slips the coins into a pouch at her hip, then points.

"That way, on the left. Place called Waldmann's."

"Sheh-sheh," Simon says with a nod, and turns to the door. He's almost there when she calls out to him.

"They ain't gonna like the look of you. I don't like the look of you."

This time he does roll his eyes.

The bar isn't that far, but by the time he gets there his face and fingers and toes are numb. There are more people inside than he would have expected for the relatively early hour, and it's obvious most of them are just off work. Simon's pretty sure there's a mine on this side of the planet, which would make sense given the griminess of the patrons. They watch him as he makes his way to the bar, and unlike the people he's faced previously they don't look away from him, instead holding his gaze with eyes that are almost as cold as the weather.

Simon does his best to ignore them. There was a time when he would've been intimidated by the sea of dusty, angry faces, but now he's more annoyed than anything. When he finally makes it to the counter, he leans against it and clears his throat to get the bartender's attention. The man looks up and takes a long look at Simon and his lip actually curls.

"Can I get a coffee?" Simon asks.

The bartender snorts with a shake of his head. "Ain't got coffee here, boy."

Simon scrubs a hand across his face. "Tea, then?"

"What kind of jing-zhang mei yong-duh place do you think this is?"

"Do you have anything warm to drink?" Simon has given up trying to keep the annoyance from his words.

"Got whiskey, that'll warm you up some." The bartender smirks as a few of the men at the bar laugh.

Simon grits his teeth. "Can I just get a glass of water, then?"

"Gotta be a payin' customer if you want water."

"Pyen juh duh jiou cha wen," Simon mutters under his breath, getting his wallet out of his pocket and pulling out a few bills. He slaps them on the counter. "Fine. I'll take a whiskey and a water. Please."

The bartender makes a show of counting the money before pouring Simon his drinks and sliding them across the counter to him.

"Much obliged," Simon says, and picks up the glasses before heading for an empty table in the back corner of the establishment. At least there he can sit and rest his leg while people shoot dirty looks at him and whisper to each other. The poor lighting makes it easier to pretend they're not there. He sits with a sigh, then sips at his water. It's cold and makes shivers run down his spine, but it's also refreshing, and cleaner than he would've expected. He lifts the whiskey and sniffs at it, quickly setting it down when it makes his nostrils burn and his eyes water. It would warm him, yes, but it would probably also make him go blind and destroy his liver.

He's contemplating asking for a refill on the water when a man approaches the table. He's bigger than Simon, and it's obvious from the look on his face and from the way he carries himself-backs straightened, chest puffed out-that he's looking to start something.

"Hey, pretty boy," he says, and he has a thick Dyton accent. He frowns when Simon doesn't respond. "Oy, I'm talking to you!"

"I heard you, yes," Simon says, and it takes no effort to sound as unimpressed as he feels. He doesn't bother looking up at the man. He wants him to know that he's not worth his full attention.

"I dunno what you think yer doin' here. We're not much fans of the Alliance in these parts." Some nearby men murmur in agreement behind him.

Annoyance it taking a turn toward anger, and Simon grips his glass a little harder. "I'm not Alliance."

"Like hell, you're not," the man says, and reaches forward, grabbing Simon's whiskey and drinking the whole thing. Simon finally looks up, fixing the man with a cold stare of his own.

"I paid for that," he says speaking slowly through a tightened jaw. He wasn't going to drink it anyway, but he can feel his temper rising.

"What're you goin'a do about it, bao bei?" the man says with a grin.

Simon shakes his head and stands up. It's probably time to get back to the Serenity. He walks around the table to leave, but the man steps in front of him. and Simon bumps into him, then takes a step back, looking up at the man's face.

"Step out of my way," he says, his voice nearly a growl.

"Why don't you make me?" the man says.

And that's when Simon hits him, hard, right in the nose. The man stumbles back, letting out a string of curses as blood pours down his face.

Well that was easy, Simon thinks, and then a fist flies into his face and he realizes he's just gotten himself into a very bad situation as four men descend on him like vultures on roadkill. He fights back as best he can, but he's not an experienced fighter and they overpower him easily. It's not long before he's on the floor, curled up with his arms over his head to try and protect what he can as fists and feet rain down on him. He feels ribs crack, and a second later a foot finds the fresh bullet scar on his leg. The pain makes his vision go black for a moment, and he realizes with a sinking feeling that he's probably about to get beaten to death. He closes his eyes and waits.

And then he hears cries, the sound of glass breaking, and the blows suddenly stop.

"Well, shit. You're not already dead, are ya?"

Simon frowns at the familiar voice and opens his eyes to see a mildly concerned looking Jayne looking down at him with that ridiculous orange and yellow hat of his.

"Jayne?" The word comes out garbled and Simon turns to the side and spits out blood before taking Jayne's outstretched hand. He groans as he's pulled to his feet. Everything hurts and he almost collapses, but Jayne holds him up.

"You shouldn't start fights you can't win," the mercenary says. There's a smirk in his voice.

"Wait. You saw the whole thing?" Simon says as they start out.

"Yep," Jayne says.

"And you couldn't intervened a little sooner?"

"Well, I thought it was kinda funny, but then you stopped fightin' back, and I knew Cap'n wouldn't be too happy if'n I let anything permanent happen. 'Sides now you owe me one."

Simon groans.

It's going to be a long walk.

xxx

"What in the tien shiao duh did you do to my medic?" Mal says, taking in the sight of Simon all black and blue and red.

"Well, that's the thing, see. He started it!" Jayne says, and laughs.

Simon glares. "I didn't start it," he says. "I threw the first punch, but I didn't start it. Just get me to my med bay, please."

Mal hurries over and pulls Simon's free arm around his shoulders. "Your med bay? I think you mean my med bay." He turns to Zoe and Kaylee. "Zoe, go tell Wash we're ready to head out. Kaylee, make sure the engine starts up way it should."

They both nod and do as he says, though Kaylee lingers for a moment before she leaves.

"What exactly happened?" Mal says as he and Jayne and Simon make their way to the infirmary.

"They didn't like my coat," Simon responds. "And then Jayne watched while they kicked my ass."

Malcolm looks over at Jayne with a raised eyebrow.

"What!" Jayne cries, and looks like he's going to deny it, and then his expression turns sheepish. "Only for a minute. I didn't let 'em kill him!"

Mal rolls his eyes. "You best hope young Simon doesn't use the same philosophy next time you find yourself in need of some doctorin'."

By the time they make it to the infirmary, Simon's feet are practically dragging, and Mal has to help him onto the exam chair. He's out of breath, but he's conscious which is a good thing 'cus he's the only one who knows what he's doing in this room.

"Get me a cloth, please," he says. "While I get this yu bun duh coat off."

Mal looks around, then back at Simon. "And cloths would be…?"

"Under the sink," Simon says.

"Anything I can do?" Jayne asks from the doorway.

"Leave," Simon and Mal say at the same time, and Jayne hurries off without argument.

Mal grabs a cloth from under the sink and takes it to Simon. "Here."

"Sheh-sheh," Simon says, taking it. "And the bottle of disinfectant there, with the green top."

"This?" Mal says, holding up a bottle.

Simon nods. "Yes, thank you. And can you hold up the mirror for me please?"

"Is now really the time to be pampering?" Mal says, and lets out a laugh that quickly dies off when he sees how miserable the doctor is. He finds the mirror and returns to Simon's side, holding it up.

Simon pours some of the disinfectant onto the cloth and sets about cleaning his face, letting out small noises of pain as the solution comes into contact with the small cuts on Simon's cheeks and temple.

"This is the second time in as many months you've had to work on yourself," Mal says. "Hope you're not making a habit of it."

That gets a small smile out of Simon. "I think I need to learn how to fight," he says. "I think I'm done with the mirror now." He doesn't look quite so bad with the blood washed from his face-a black eye, a split lip, a few small cuts, but otherwise okay. It's the expression he's wearing that concerns Mal.

"Hey. You okay?"

Simon nods, but he looks worried. Scared even.

"Are you sure?" Mal asks, and his concern spikes when he hears a slight rattling each time Simon breathes. "You're wheezing."

"'m okay," Simon says, and then breaks into a violent coughing fit. His bends almost in half, body shaking with the force of it, and when he's finally done there's blood on the inside of the elbow he coughed into and on his lips and he's shaking.

"Tah mah duh hwoon dahn!" Mal cries. "That's not okay! You're-that's-"

"t's okay," Simon gasps as he tries to catch his breath. "Just...pulmonary contusion…"

"What?"

"Bruised...bruised lungs. 've got...got blood in my lungs. Just need to cough it up. 'm okay."

Mal stares at him, eyes wide, and tries not to panic. "You and I have very different definitions of okay! How is that okay? Blood in your lungs?"

"Hand me the-" Simon points frantically and Mal grabs the puke basin, shoving it into Simon's hands just as he starts coughing again, barking hacks that sound painful and exhausting.

Mal is reminded of the time he got pneumonia as a teen, and his chest aches at the memory. He moves forward and positions himself beside the chair. When Simon's coughing pauses again, Mal takes the basin from his hands and holds it. It's a small gesture, and he's not sure Simon understands it, but he does it anyway. He's not sure how much time passes, with Simon coughing and panting and coughing again, but he finally leans back against the chair, and his breathing sounds better.

"Done?" Mal asks.

Simon nods and Mal takes the basin to the sink, empties it, and runs some water in it. When he turns back around, Simon's eyes are closed.

"Hey, now." Mal walks over and gives the doctor's shoulder a shake.

"Hmm," Simon responds.

"Let's get you to your bunk," Mal says.

"'m fine here"

"After a beating like that, you wanna sleep in your own bed. Trust me." He pulls Simon's arm around his shoulders, helping the young man to his feet. He lets out a low groan, moving gingerly and curling his free arm around his ribs.

"Got it?" Mall asks, and Simon nods wordlessly. They shuffle awkwardly along, and it's slow going, but Mal doesn't mind. He suspects Simon might be embarrassed about it later, though.

"Aiya," Simon suddenly swears.

"What?" Mal stiffens, worried the young man might start coughing again. When he looks over at Simon, though, his ears are red, and Mal smiles with understanding. "Gotta piss?'

Simon bobs his head.

"Alright, I'll get you there but I'm not holding you up while you do it." Simon doesn't answer, and Mal guides him to the nearest head. A few minutes pass, and Mal is worried Simon may have passed out, when the door opens and Simon staggers forward, his face pale.

"Pissing blood?" Mal asks.

"A little," Simon says.

"That was one helluva beating, huh?"

Simon hums in response. A few steps later, he says, "Why're you being so nice to me?"

The question takes him by surprise, but Mal knows what the answer is. When that bounty hunter had been aboard the Serenity, Simon had been alone with the maniac and he'd been...brave. Defiant. He hadn't talked about it much, but Mal could tell from the bullet hole in his leg. He isn't the same person he'd been when he first boarded Serenity with his sure as hell isn't the same person Mal used to think he was. He's not some spoiled rich kid anymore. And though Mal would never admit it, Simon is almost starting to feel like one of the crew.

That's what the answer is. What Mal says is, "A good ass kicking is the mark of a man."

"I thought getting shot took care of that," Simon answers.

Mal chuckles. "You would think. But it's actually getting the go se kicked out of you that does it."

"Then you must be pretty...damn manly."

"Must be."

The rest of the walk to Simon's bunk passes in silence, and by the time they get there Mal's taking most of the doctor's weight. The two of them barely fit in the cramped space.

"There ya go," Mal grunts, easing Simon onto his bed.

Simon lets out a long sigh and closes his eyes. "My bed never felt so good." His words are slightly slurred, and Mal can tell he's already falling asleep.

"You rest up," he says. "You never know when one of us might need those steady hands of yours." He's leaving when Simon answers, his voice quiet.

"Thanks, Cap."

Mal freezes. It's the first time Simon has called him smiles and turns around. He's pretty sure the kid's already sleep, but he replies anyway. "You're welcome."

xxx


End file.
